cocktail review no. 7 - Barkis is Willing

I've bloviated frequently about cocktails which, in my opinion, have too many mixers in them, which obscure the flavor of the liquor upon which they are based. I believe I have now found a cocktail which has made me recant that view, or at the very least given me reason not to regret said obscuration.

1½ ounces light rum

1 ounce lime juice

1 teaspoon grenadine

½ teaspoon superfine sugar

2 ounces club soda

2 ounces ginger ale

1 orange slice

First, mix the rum, lime juice, grenadine and sugar in a shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Strain the results into a collins glass almost filled with ice cubes, top with the club soda and ginger ale, and garnish with the orange slice. (As always, all my recipes for drinks and cocktails come from Gary Regan's excellent reference book, The Bartender's Bible.) This is excellent stuff. It's fruity, yes, but it's damn tasty. The ginger ale, lemon juice, grenadine and sugar combine to form a singular flavor that create an overture for the rum's subtle undertones (even despite the fact that the rum itself can hardly be tasted in its own right). Thanks to the combined efforts of the ginger ale and club soda, the drink is pleasantly fizzy in addition to being flavorful. The orange slice provides just the right touch of extra sweetness. In all, it's an exceedingly pleasant experience, perfect for a warm summer evening...and people of all tastes in drinks.

recommended reading

Boy, it's been a while since we did one of these, hasn't it?

When last we spoke, I was in the middle of Marco Polo: From Venice to Xanadu and World War Z, by Laurence Bergreen and Max Brooks respectively. There is little more I can say about these two works that I have not already said previously, mainly because I haven't finished the Polo book (it's been buried in the bottom of my suitcase since late June) and the zombie book continued in largely the same vein that I delineated to you before. That is to say, excellent, poignant and mind-blowing.

Now on to the real meatballs in the batter: Ice Hunt by James Rollins, The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas, Candide by Voltaire, and All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque. I couldn't wait until I hit the flight deck. I cracked Ice Hunt the first day in Jeju. I finished it a couple of days later. I won't deny that it was a cheap sci-fi adventure novel, but hey, James Rollins really knows his trade. It was a gripping book, to say the least. Russian intrigue, submarine warfare, assassination attempts in Arctic Alaska, plenty of shootouts and dubious vehicular stunts, sabotage, lost ice stations, top-secret human experimentation, blizzards, explosions, and long-dead monsters reawakened from a frozen tomb; let's just put it that way. Rollins somehow does something I am deathly afraid I won't be able to do: create a complex and intriguing plot, populated with dozens of fascinating secondary characters. The various tendrils of this plot all coordinate seamlessly with one another and build toward a truly heroic and spectacular climax. I could learn a thing or two from this. This book (perhaps) also holds the dubious distinction of being the first and only adventure novel to use Ambulocetus as a bad guy.

Far more terrifying than this picture makes it seem.

I didn't open another book until I got home. My seat on Flight 63 from Tokyo was so cramped and uncomfortable that I didn't want to read in case the unfavorable circumstances somehow tarnished my perception of the book's content. That happens to me a lot, you know. I need conditions that are conducive to contemplative perusal; otherwise, not only will I not be able to concentrate, but I will forever associate the book in question with such unfavorable circumstances. Once home, however, after a hard day of job hunting, I picked up The Three Musketeers and started in on it. I was now floored by Alexandre Dumas's writing ability. He, like Rollins, is able to invent a complex plot with dozens of supporting characters and resolve the various plot lines into a cohesive and satisfactory ending (and an emotional one to boot). However, Dumas has also created no less than four three-dimensional, entertaining protagonists (I think you know which four I'm referring to). Moreover, Dumas really knows how to set up an engaging storyline quickly. Within the first few pages, he had introduced me to young D'Artagnan and started that young lad out upon his grand romantic adventure, with nothing more than a few écus, a tatterdemalion horse, and his father's sword...thereby getting me hooked on the story immediately.

That story is classic. D'Artagnan meets his three future best buddies under less-than-ideal circumstances upon arriving in Paris. In fact, he winds up challenging each one of them to a duel. However, a hostile encounter with the scheming Cardinal Richelieu's men interrupts their clash, unites them, and makes them fast friends. There follows a swashbuckling series of sorties, swordfights, quests, rallies, marches, missions and information-gathering, culminating in...well, I won't spoil it. Suffice to say, I highly recommend both Ice Hunt and The Three Musketeers.

The candy bar's not bad, either.

Next was Candide, by Voltaire. It's one of the oddest books I've ever read. First of all, it's only 85 pages. Moreover, it has about sixty chapters, each of which is usually only one or two pages long. It's a quick read. It was also one of the most merciless, blatant, overt works of satire I've ever read. Voltaire skewers everything from philosophy to science to international politics (and takes shots at his detractors along the way). All of this is couched in rather extreme situational comedy...an elderly midwife who was once a princess until she was captured by Turks and had one of her buttocks cut off; Candide himself, the hapless protagonist, who winds up getting his skin whipped completely off before discovering El Dorado; Dr. Pangloss, Candide's mentor, who despite nearly dying of leprosy, being kicked out of his homeland by an invading army, getting improperly hanged in a foreign land, narrowly escaping drowning during a shipwreck and witnessing countless instances of depravity and tyranny during his travels, keeps insisting that "everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds."

"If this world is the best," Candide unsurprisingly wonders, "what about the others?"

I shan't divulge the various trials and tribulations Candide endures in his travels around Europe, Asia Minor, and the New World in search of his lady love, Cunegonde, nor the interesting folk he meets on his way. I'll merely say that, in the end, Candide does discover what's best in life. And it's not crushing your enemies, driving them before you, and hearing the lamentation of their women, either. That was Voltaire's aim in writing this little work: to show up the petty, grandstanding, overbearing nature of humanity's political, religious, and carnal concerns. Perhaps all of them can be replaced with something far simpler...?

Having completed these three doughty volumes, I then progressed to All Quiet on the Western Front. In terms of sheer writing ability, I think Erich Maria Remarque outstrips a good 95% of all the authors I've ever read. His story of German boys fighting a bloody, soul-scarring war that's not their own is one of the most powerful pieces of literature I've ever touched. That's no understatement. This book isn't called the best war novel of the 20th century for nothing. Remarque paints a vivid, gruesome picture of the front. His depiction of life behind the lines, at times bawdy, silly, bleak, poor, and toilsome, is no less gritty (in every sense of the word). In a time of bombastic patriotism and international pride, Remarque dares to stand up and challenge the paradigm with his brutally honest account of heartrending loss of life and innocence. The tragedy of war, and the sure destruction of even those who survived, are revealed on no uncertain terms, drawn in simple descriptive phrases and the most frugally eloquent prose I've seen in a long while. It's a thousand times more accessible than The Red Badge of Courage and a thousand times less pretentious than Johnny Got His Gun. Though the word "masterpiece" gets chucked around meaninglessly nowadays, this book fits the bill.

I'm working through a literary self-help book, too (How to Write a Damn Good Novel, by James N. Frey), and some historical reference books to succour my novel (Antiquity by Norman F. Cantor and A Short History of the World by Geoffrey Blainey) but I'm too superficially involved as yet to offer a useful opinion. I have no idea what I'll read next (for fun). So stay tuned...

a new car and semi-employment

We went car-hunting as a family unit last Friday. Dad is working a contract position for the state, and for some strange reason he gets every Friday off. So we all piled into the truck and went cruising around downtown Victorville looking for a vehicle for yours truly. We passed by the large dealerships on 7th Avenue without really meeting with much success. Number one, they didn't have what I was looking for: an inexpensive, medium-sized truck or SUV. Number two, they were all closed. (We weren't out that early, jeez.) However, right when we were about to give it up for the day, we happened upon a small dealership on Palmdale Road called Eagle Motors. Sitting in the parking lot was a white, noticeably undamaged four-door 1995 Jeep Cherokee SE. Missives like "$2995" and "LOW MILES" were scrawled on the rear windows. We parked and did an inspection. It seemed mechanically sound. There was a dent on the right rear fender, but that didn't bother us much. There was no noticeable oil leakage. The interior was old, but not overly worn or shabby. There was a slight amount of rust on the body, but nothing significant. All in all, it seemed a good deal. While we were inspecting the vehicle, a swarthy fellow with slicked-back hair and a polo shirt came out of the office. His name was Sal, and he was one of the salesmen. We talked with him, but he had little to say apart from a glowing description of the vehicle in front of us. At Sal's urging, however, Dad and I climbed in and took the Jeep for a ride around the block. I was pleased with the way it handled. It was a zippy little number (totally unlike a massive Ford Expedition which Dad and I had perused earlier in the week). The power brakes worked zealously well. We told Sal we were interested in the car, but we'd like to have it inspected by our mechanic first. He bucked and snorted a little, but finally agreed. We said we'd think it over. Later that day I called him and arranged to come pick up the car at ten on Monday and take it over to A-Action Automotive on Hesperia Road, near Bear Valley Road. And so I waited the long weekend, the Jeep growing on me the whole time, slightly worried that it would sell before I could go back on Monday and pick it up. With bated breath I drove into town that Monday morning. Whew! The Jeep was still there. Unfortunately, Sal wasn't. I had to explain everything to the proper owner of Eagle Motors, Carl, an old man with a stern glare, salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin, and a beer gut like a small porpoise. In spite of his imposing appearance, he was a decent ol' stick. Once I communicated the situation to him, he accommodated me quite cheerily. Since only he and his wife were in that day, there was no one to ride with me to the auto shop. So I offered to put down collateral. Carl asked for a hundred bucks and some contact info. I slapped both down (one on the desk and the other on a piece of paper) and drove the car over to A-Action. Steve Coultas, the proprietor and head mechanic of A-Action Automotive, also has a beer gut...but his bright eyes, sandy hair, big hands and jolly booming voice lend him a more congenial first impression. We filled him in on the situation, and he told us he'd give our car the kind of inspection that he himself would perform on a car he was about to give his own daughter. He said it'd be about an hour and a half. We thanked him and left. Mom (who'd followed me into town in the truck to pick me up from the mechanic's after I dropped off the Jeep) and I didn't know what to do with ourselves. We were in the downtown area, sure, but neither of us felt like traipsing around the Mall of Victor Valley for ninety minutes. We didn't have library cards, either. So we called up Dad at his office and told him we'd pick him up for lunch. We drove over to his office and then went to the nearest Farm Boys for burgers (well, I had a chicken club; I'm trying to cut back). Man, that was nice: just to be able to sit down in a burger joint and have some true American cuisine with people speaking English (and some Spanish) in the background, and the familiar stucco buildings with their red tile roofs glimmering in the hot Mojave sun outside the windows. Reverse culture shock is gradually turning into warm nostalgia. After that Mom and I dropped Dad back off and we went over to the Victorville post office to mail my brother Harlan a package. The line was hideously long, putting things into perspective for us Apple Valley residents. The good thing was, however, that between the burgers and Harlan's package, we'd used up the entire hour and a half. Or we thought we had. Upon returning to A-Action we'd noticed that the Jeep still hadn't moved from its parking space out front. Upon entering, we discovered that the shop was a bit backed up that morning and they'd be getting around to us in a little while. It'd probably be another 45 minutes, Steve said (as he frantically hurried around the office checking work orders). So, Mom and I just sat around in the tiny office (with its three AC Delco chairs and its piles of Drive magazines) and waited it out. Well, Mom did. I paced. Burns calories, you know. I telephoned Eagle Motors to apprise them of the delay and received a green light. I wondered if I should've given them more collateral. I walked back and forth between the wooden door of the office and the sliding glass doors across it (only two or three paces). These glass doors were blocked by large blue metal cabinets that had been placed across them to enclose the waiting area of the main office, but I was tall enough to peek over them if I stood on my toes. And stand on them I did, every four or five revolutions or so. Dale, the co-owner of A-Action, said I looked like an expectant father in the hospital waiting for his child to be born. "That ain't a bad analogy," I said. "I'm waiting to see if he comes out deformed." After about an hour or so, the affair was finished. It turned out that the Jeep didn't have quite so clean a bill of health as Sal had suggested. The brake rotors were below the legal limit for thinness. By law they'd have to be resurfaced and refurbished. The same was true of the inoperative blower in the ventilation system. As a matter of maintenance, Steve suggested we replace the serpentine belt; there was also a minor oil leak in the oil pan and the coolant system could have used a flushing, but those were minor details. The two major repairs were the rotors and the blower. Steve said we could either demand that the dealer fix those two problems himself, or else lower the cost of the car. He encouraged us to do the latter. Otherwise, he warned, the dealer would go with the cheapest fix and we'd come off the worse in the long run. That sounded like a good idea. Steve was nice enough to print up estimates for all the repairs on an individual basis, so I had some paper evidence to wave in Carl's face if necessary. In total, the two major repairs would cost about $250. On Friday we'd talked Sal down from $2995 to $2795. I decided to try to get Carl down to $2595, subtracting $200 for repairs. So we drove back to Eagle Motors. My heart was thumping in my chest. I'd never bargained for anything (successfully) in my life. The most experience I'd had was haggling for cab fare in Korea. I'd never even approached something like a car before in any previous transaction. But I was determined to do it. Mom and Dad had done most of the talking on Friday and I had set my face against them doing it again. It was high time I continued standing on my own two feet, irrespective of the fact that I was living in their house and eating their breakfast cereal at nine o'clock every morning. ...and it came off. I looked Carl dead in the eye, told him about what was wrong with the car (skipping the minor stuff) and told him I'd take the Jeep if he knocked the price down to $2595. He considered for a moment, then agreed. That warm, slow feeling of elation (the one that comes after accomplishing a nerve-wracking task) trickled through my torso and legs as we went through the motions. Carl took my information, entered it into a computer program, then printed it onto a bunch of forms, which I then signed. I then paid him $2800 (that was all the cash I had; plus tax the bill came to $2974.50, but Carl was kind enough to let me come back later and pay the difference). And then...after Carl scraped the "for-sale" epistles off the windows with a razor blade, I drove my new Jeep Cherokee off the lot. I stopped and put thirty bucks' worth of gas into it on the way back, but apart from that the drive was fun. Today I took the thing into A-Action again to have those major repairs done. They had to completely replace one brake rotor that was completely worn down (which upped the price by another thirty dollars), but they were successfully resurfaced. The blower now blows for all it's worth and the serpentine belt has been replaced. (Dad looked under the car yesterday and said the oil leak wasn't worth worrying about, and that the two of us could flush the coolant on the weekend, so we passed that over.) The bill came to $360. So, sports fans, that means I have blown one quarter of the twelve grand I saved up in Korea...but also that I am now in full possession of an operative, low-mileage, tough and capable automobile. Now I just have to insure it. In California. Yippee. So! On the employment front, I've heard absolutely nothing from any of the six or eight reporter's positions (ranging in location from Arkansas to Connecticut) I've applied to. I finally got up the gumption to call New Northwest Broadcasters' Anchorage branch, but was told that they had no on-air openings whatsoever. They requested my information and told me they'd contact me if anything came up. (And you know what that means...that's a polite way of saying 'Thanks, but no thanks.') I've gotten no bites in TV, radio or print. However...I have been officially accepted as a freelance writer for Demand Studios, based in the L.A. Basin. They're a sort of information-gathering firm that posts article topics on various subjects on its website (home, culture, art, travel, pets, sports, leisure, science, education, what-have-you). A large staff of freelance writers claims the topics, writes them up, and submits them. Demand Studios takes these results, packages them, and disseminates them to various online databases like eHow. It doesn't pay much; $5-$15 per article, usually, or royalties, but still, it's better than nothing. At least somebody accepted my help. Anyway, I wrote my first article for them today, a nice little "strategy" piece (which, according to their style book, means a 50-word overview and then a series of chronologically-organized paragraphs, separated by subheads, offering tips on something). The title was "Tips on Learning to Play the Piano." I figured seven fruitless years of piano lessons made me, at the very least, unequivocally qualified to explain that. I adhered the best I could to their style and formatting guide; we'll see if it gets accepted. Currently it's under review. I'll keep you "Posted." So, now I have a car and semi-employment; more updates as events warrant. Oh yeah, and someday soon here I promise I'll get around to uploading photos of my Jeju/Gwangju getaway. You'll love 'em.

Mom and Dad's home cookin'

I didn't wholly realize how much I'd missed it, however much I'd cogitated on it back in my studio apartment in Korea. To date, since I've been home, I've been treated to:

• Mom's spinach dip
• Rice Krispie treats
• magic cookie bars*
• spaghetti
• nachos
• quesadillas
• pickles 'n' meat**
• fried tilapia
• Dad's salsa
• Mom's hummus

And man, hasn't it all been delicious! In addition to these gems, there've been a few store-bought foods I've very much enjoyed having again, such as:

• root beer (Mug)
• Wheat Thins
• Kettle Chips
• real hot dogs (beef)
• Mexican food
• Drambuie
• Swiss cheese
• good beer

Might seem weird to you that I missed these, but I sure did. All of them were impossible to get in Korea, or else were extremely expensive. The hot dogs there were only shadowy reflections of real hot dogs, hence my emphasis on that adjective. The two popular home-brewed beer brands, Hite and Cass, wouldn't even stand up to Budweiser, which just goes to show how bad they were. We encountered some Mexican food in Western bars and clubs in large cities, but even this was strange (see my entry about the El Paso Restaurant in Jeju: Day Eight to learn more). You couldn't find a good potato chip to save your soul. As for the home-cooked food, it just tastes American, if you know what I mean. Anyone who's had Koreanized spaghetti won't hesitate to say that it's pretty good; it just doesn't taste like what you're used to. It's truly invaluable to be back on my home turf and have spaghetti that tastes familiar again. * These are simple to make: melt some butter in a large oven-safe dish, add some crumbled-up graham cracker crumbs, cover with a layer of sweetened condensed milk, embed an entire package of milk chocolate chips into that, then sprinkle a protective layer of shredded coconut over the top of that, and bake for 25 minutes. The butter soaks into the cracker crumbs and makes a delicious firm underlayer; the chocolate chips melt into the condensed milk; and the coconut browns just slightly, creating a truly mind-blasting and sweet dessert. ** This is an old German dish passed down in my family from generation to generation. Simply grind up some bread-and-butter pickles and some balogna, mix that with enough mayonnaise (I prefer Miracle Whip) to make a paste out of it, and spread it thick between two pieces of bread. Most awesome sandwich known to humanity, right there.

cocktail review no. 6 - Whiskey Sling

Let's cut right to the chase:

• 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
• 2 teaspoons water
• 1 ounce lemon juice
• 2 ounces blended whiskey
• 1 lemon twist

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the sugar, water, lemon juice and whiskey. Shake well. Strain into a highball glass and garnish with the lemon twist. I should point out, before I commence opining, that I used Wild Turkey bourbon whiskey to make this instead of regular ol' blended whiskey like the recipe called for. Still, I liked it. It's sour, and not so sweet, but that's more like how I prefer my drinks, particularly ones that are whiskey-based. I actually find it to be an improvement over the whiskey sour, which is actually more sweet than sour (the way I make 'em). This drink goes down smooth, with nary a pucker.

Alaska on hold

Alaska, irrespective of what's written in my description on the right, might have to be put on hold. After a couple of months of off-and-on searching, I have managed to discover only one real media-related job in Anchorage, and a solid lead on another. The real job is blogging for Examiner.com, which is apparently some kind of nationwide news provider that seems primarily web-based, although it claims to have some scions in print. I checked out the website itself and it seems to resemble MSN quite closely. Regardless of what it claims to be, it's not a day job. Blogging for it wouldn't pay the bills, certainly not fund my flying career. The solid lead is NNB, New Northwest Broadcasters, which are a West Coast-based network of radio stations that fancy themselves as being hip, casual and community-focused. Their website (http://careers.nnbradio.com) states that they work hard and play hard: they believe in being competitive, but they do it in a fun way, apparently. Mom somehow got wind of these guys and sent me the link while I was still in Korea. It sounds quite interesting, particularly given that they have a branch in Anchorage. I dithered for my last few weeks in Korea, not sure whether I should call them up six weeks in advance, or wait until I get back from my adventure. I'm trying to get up the nerve to drop them a line right now, in fact. Why call instead of e-mail? Adam's advice, and I think it's good. Shows you're truly interested and want to speak to somebody real. So, in light of the fact that Anchorage is an expensive place to live, and I might be seriously jeopardizing my savings by going out on a limb and moving up there without prospects (as it's looking like right now), I'm hedging my bets. Yesterday I applied for two reporter positions with newspapers that are based nowhere near Alaska. One of them was the Telluride Daily Planet, in Telluride, Colorado. The town's famous; Old West bad boys like Wild Bill Hickok used to hang out there. The place was a mining boom town, full of bars and brothels back in the day. Now, apparently, it's a thriving resort in close proximity to some ridiculous ski slopes, with a reputation of being filled with crack-snorting liberals. Oh well. It won't be the first time I've applied to go into enemy territory. I almost went to school at UC Santa Cruz, did I ever tell you that? The second, and somewhat more exciting, reporter's position I applied for was based in...give up? The Virgin Islands. No, I'm not kidding. A Caribbean-based newspaper was sending out an all-call for reporters with a B.S. in journalism or English and with a penchant for "investigative reporting." They gave me fair warning that it wouldn't be all sun, sand and surfing. I'll be expected to work a full 30-hour weekly schedule, generating and investigating seven or so stories per week. The pay isn't the best ($25,000-$30,000) but that's roughly the same pay scale as I was offered for teaching in Korea. As long as I'm not getting paid less, I'll take it: it's a job in my field, and it's in the freakin' Caribbean Sea, for Pete's sake. National Geographic will have to notice me now after I've done a couple of jobs like this. There might even be flying opportunities down there, who knows? It's another opportunity to travel and work. I'll take it. I haven't ruled Alaska out completely, rest assured. I said I hadn't gotten a line on any jobs in journalism up there, but there are a few more besides. There were no less than 14 openings listed on CareerBuilder.com for a "Ramp Service Agent" with Alaska Airlines or Alaska Air. What's a "ramp service agent," you ask? Well, simply put, they're the people who put the luggage on the plane and take it off again when it reaches its destination. Yep, that'll be me, one of those poor buggers bundled up in fifty layers, driving a tractor pulling people's bags between the terminal and the plane in all kinds of despicable weather. Sounds harsh, but it's better than crab fishing. It pays $15.86 per hour to boot, which is marginal for Alaska (given the cost of housing) but might still be enough for me to live humbly on and still fly. There might be writing opportunities in it, and I will be in close proximity to aircraft and an airport, which is better still. So, anyway, I'm still tossing that stuff around. I reckon today I'll apply for one of those ramp positions with Alaska Airlines, and finally call the general manager of NNB, Anchorage division. (It's about dang time, too.) Moreover I have phone calls to make to three car dealerships in the area: one to Lucerne Valley to inquire about a Range Rover we all saw parked there a couple of days ago as we drove back from Big Bear whence we'd taken Mom to lunch on her birthday; and two to a couple of other car dealerships on 7th Avenue in Victorville about whatever SUVs or trucks they might have in stock. So excuse me, it's almost noon now and I need to get busy. Ta-ta...

reverse culture shock

It exists. It took a little while for mine to sink in, but as Jeff so sagely predicted, it happened. I'm...weirded out, to say the least. Everybody I've passed on the street is speaking English; I have to watch what I say. If I have a bit of trash in my pocket, I can just throw it into a trash can; I don't have to go hunting for somebody's garbage bag left out on the curb. The shops all carry food I recognize; I'd better be careful not to blow all the money I saved on Three Musketeers bars and Progresso Soup. And that's not to mention the food I've had since I got back. First thing after my folks picked me up from the airport, we went out for Mexican. Now, I'd had some pseudo-Mexican in Korea. There were the nachos at Mix (a club in Busan) and the enchiladas at El Paso (see Day Eight: Jeju). At the time, in the absence of the real thing, and being so long removed from said real thing, I'd thought the pseudo-Mexican was pretty good. Boy, was I talking through my hat. I don't even remember the name of the place we went to; tiny ten-table sort of establishment, in a shopping center just off Mariposa Road in Victorville (same complex as the old Cinemark theater, Michael's, and Red Robin). I ordered up some chicken enchiladas, and they came, served up with Spanish rice and a great heaping helping of refried beans. I bit into the tortilla soaked with both its contents and its covering, and promptly sank into a year's worth of Mexican withdrawal, which fortunately was quickly remedied by what was already in my mouth. Ay carumba, that was bliss. So good to have something real, or at least as close to real as I could get north of the border (and this side of the Pacific). Things haven't changed. At home I was treated to one of Dad's quesadillas, whipped up Post Family style: Swiss cheese. He also added some leftover chicken. Boy, was that ever a trip down memory lane, and darn delicious to boot. I have since had a ham and Swiss on homemade buttermilk bread (awwwwwwwwwwwww); some of my Mom's nachos (smack smack); my Dad's hot wings (yummy yummy...hot hot hot); raisin bran (which I didn't even realize I'd missed); and, well, yeah. Just being back, and having the option to have all this stuff (even if I haven't had it yet) is blowing my mind at this juncture. Not to mention I'm still freaked out by everything I've mentioned above. There's more yet to come. Imagine how weird it'll be to start seeing some of my high school friends again. Or order a pizza from Papa John's. Or drive. Today Dad gave me my first lesson in how to drive a stick-shift, and dang if that wasn't like learning to drive all over again. That, too, has compounded my RCS. Wish me luck...Saturday we go to Big Bear, a place I've been millions of times but not in four years, for my Mom's birthday. Now, if that won't be a trip down Memory Lane...the long, sinuous drive up the San Gabriel Mountains to the secluded lake in the midst of a verdant pine forest on the mountaintops...I don't know what will.

Japan Airlines

Did I ever tell you about the time I had going to Korea? Northwest Airlines? Economy class? Middle seat? Desiccated, reheated omelet? Stuck between two silent Japanese people the whole way? No?

Well, that's how it was. Now, I'd like to say a few words in defense of Japanese Airlines. 

Before getting on the flight I was talking to this one elderly fellow from Palm Springs who had been vacationing in Japan. He mentioned something interesting to me. He'd been on international flights with American carriers before, he said. Japan Airlines flight attendants, as opposed to those on the American airlines, remained fresh all through the flight. Hair perfect, makeup fresh, smiles genuine. American flight attendants, he said, were good for maybe one or two hours. But the Japanese stayed at the top of their game all through the flight.

Whether I was genuinely interested in this heretofore unsuspected notion or whether it merely stuck with me for some unknown reason, I kept an eye out during the flight. The gentleman from Palm Springs was correct. All through the flight the attendants' smiles were fresh and bright, their voices energetic, their service prompt and their eyes not haggard in the slightest.

I will also say, on the subject of energetic voices, that it was strange to hear all this Japanese going around the intercom after having spent a year in South Korea. I think I'm now able to tell the difference between the three within three seconds or so, something that I wouldn't have been able to do in a million years before all this. More impressive yet, the announcements were all bilingual: the flight attendants (all female) spoke Japanese and English. I'll bet you they knew enough Korean to get by, too.

The biggest problem with JAL's economy class was that it was no more spacious than Northwest had been. I was still crammed into a tiny seat (the middle one, to add insult to injury). I still had no legroom. I at least had a blanket and a pillow, though, even though I needed neither. (It was too hot for a blanket and my seat didn't recline far enough to make a pillow feasible.)

The food was inherently superior. For dinner the evening of our takeoff from Narita, we received our own personal bento. What's bento, you ask? A Japanese lunchbox, for short. They're little partitioned boxes. Each compartment has a different food in it. Normally they're made of wood, but for expense's sake these on JAL were made of fiberboard. Even so, they were absolutely delicious. The fish was fresh; the rice came in quite a few varieties. I'm afraid I can't identify much of what else was in that bento. I've been in Korea, not Japan. But it was all tasty. For dinner we had some braised chicken in sauce that actually tasted like chicken, a delicious (tiny) salad and some other awesome stuff. The point was, it was real, or at the very least it had the appearance of being real. Far, far different from the soggy cardboard I was served on Northwest Airlines, that's for dang sure.

Another thing I had on this flight that I didn't have on Northwest was entertainment. Contrary to my fears, my 747-400 did have a personal TV screen in the back of every chair, and not only did it have movies, it had music and games too. Not exactly good games, you understand...possibly the most exciting was Space Invasion, and all that involved was shooting missiles between asteroids at increasing numbers of enemy spacecraft. I tried a couple of games of chess, but was soundly whipped by the computer. I tried listening to a little music, but they either had Japanese pop music or some rather annoying American contemporary.

The movie selection wasn't much better. I had to choose, basically, between some Clive Owen/Julia Roberts flick, a Chinese war movie, Monsters vs. Aliens, and Valkyrie. I think you can guess which one I opted for. Much as I hate Tom Cruise, he's tolerable when he's short one hand and is wearing an eyepatch. It's hard to be mad at anyone trying to kill Hitler, too. The only problem was, his expression never changed. He was always either staring off into space or yelling at somebody or looking aghast or grave or stolidly, silently determined. Got a bit wearing after a while. I think that was the main problem with the film itself: despite the gravity of its subject matter, it was a bit superficial. I came in about halfway through the film, fooled around a bit during the credits, came in a little after the beginning, watched it most of the way through again, fooled about a bit during the credits, then didn't catch the beginning the next time around. Oh well. I didn't even reach for my book (The Three Musketeers). I was enjoying it so far and didn't want to tarnish the image of it which I'd built in my mind by reading it under memorably unpleasant circumstances. (Reading it on the toilet isn't off limits, though.) So there I sat, alternately attempting to sleep, eating delicious bento, losing at chess, and watching one-eyed Tom Cruise running about with an intense look on his face trying to coordinate his pet assassination project. I was, however, still sandwiched between two irritable-looking Japanese guys. For nine hours.

Oh well, you can't have it all your way.

the last weekend in Korea

So, I got back from my long gallop around K-Land, which I've explained elsewhere in this blog. I arrived at Adam and Elaine's apartment at noon on Thursday, after an uneventful and not entirely unpleasant two-and-a-half hour bus ride from Gwangju. The weather was hot, cloudy and muggy (same all over Korea) but at least it wasn't as bad as Jeollanam or Jeju, not by a long shot. At 1:30, we all walked down to Reading Town together. I got to say hi (and bye) to some of the kids again; I also wanted to speak with Jacob about a few pertinent matters. First, I got a definite "yes" concerning his giving me a ride to Gimhae Airport come Monday. (Splendid, that'll make things a lot easier.) We also made an appointment for going to get my police background check (Friday, 11:00) and that was basically it. I hung around the hagwon for a little while longer (long enough to see a few more of my former students), and then I headed down to Homeplus. I was on the hunt for burger ingredients. The one and only condition to my bumming a couple nights' sleep at A&E's was that I make hamburgers for them one more time. So I dutifully went down to Homeplus and scored four packs of ground beef, some ketchup, some fries, and some buns. They weren't burger buns (the Gohyeon Homeplus recently renovated their bakery and it looks like genuine burger buns got phased out), but they passed. I went back home, and when everybody got off work, Kevin and Jeff came over and we whipped up some burgers. Jeff wasn't feeling too well, poor chap. His coworkers Caitlin and Arie went home to New Zealand, and until their replacements clear immigration (there's been some reworked requirements that are slowing them down), Jeff has to do the work of three at UniWorld. It's a frickin' crock. I didn't think the burgers were my best work, but everybody seemed to like them regardless. It was eminently satisfying to sink one's teeth into a big hunk of meat in a country devoid of such. We watched a bit of Deadliest Catch, and then I spent my first of several comfortable nights on A&E's couch. Friday dawned. I was up at eight or so. I took the time to go down to Top Mart and replace some of the water, food and trash bags I'd used. I returned just as Adam was waking up (Elaine had awoken shortly after I'd left). We chilled in the apartment for a bit, until Jacob faithfully came to pick me up. First we headed to Okpo, a twenty-minute drive east across the rice paddies and through the hills and mountains, to the central police station on Geoje. It was a piece of cake. I handed my Alien Immigration Card and my passport over to the lean, lithe, deep-voiced police chief (but for the fact that he was Korean and lacked a cowboy hat, he could've passed for any sheriff or police chief in Texas). He checked them both; Jacob filled in a few forms; then I received the official document. It was all in Korean, of course; but I could at least read the part that said NO CRIMES (with Jacob's help. I only hope the language barrier won't be a problem should I ever need to present this document to a prospective employer. Following that Jacob offered to take me out to lunch. We tried a few restaurants in Okpo, but they were surprisingly closed, even at noon. I guess they wait until all the foreigners get off work or something, or maybe on Fridays they just can't be bothered. We returned to Gohyeon, stopped at the post office so I could mail all the marvelous (and bulky) gifts and my remaining miscellany back home, and then went straight to the restaurant I thought I'd never get to try but now got a second chance to! Charles had recommended it to me: Miru Jajangmyeon (or something), a noodle place specializing in jajangmyeon. This is simply a big bowl of thick noodles, based on the Chinese dish zhajiang mian (or something). This particular restaurant specialized in hand-pulling the noodle dough, instead of using machines like your modern-day noodle places. We didn't have their signature dish, however. We got bokkeumbap, a splendid mix of fried rice, fried egg and dark savory sauce. There was also tangsuyuk (I've mentioned that elsewhere; it's the Korean take on Chinese sweet-and-sour chicken), and a delicious spicy seafood soup. I was ever so thankful to Jacob for taking me out to eat again, even after that marvelous restaurant with the ocean view he'd taken us to (with the great makgeolli). I guess the guy's really going to miss me (as we drove to the restaurant, Jacob looked at me and said slowly, "I will always treasure your memory," which touched me quite deeply). We returned to Jacob's apartment to pick up Lily and Albert. Lily fixed me a cold glass of mango juice while I looked around the smallish but stylishly appointed domicile. Albert had two rooms: a study room filled with books and a computer, and his bedroom. That's Korea for you. After dispensing all the housing-related compliments I knew, I returned with the family to Reading Town in Jacob's car. The rest of the day was a mix of impatience, excitement, lethargy, and emotion. I was impatient to close my bank account, withdraw my money and exchange it for dollars. I did this during the first class period, going down to the Nong Hyup main branch office and waiting around during the busy midafternoon rush. I finally secured a seat at the foreign exchange desk and after some confusing half-Korean, half-English palaver, managed to communicate my desire to the teller. My money was exchanged and $3,147 were counted out to me. Tragically, the wait was so long that I missed saying goodbye to the first-period kids; they boarded the bus without me as I hurried up the street a few blocks down. Oh well, at least I saw them before class... I was excited to be holding three grand in my hand (I've never even held so much as a hundred-dollar bill before). I was also excited to be leaving. With the conversion of my money, every single pre-departure errand had been completed. My race was run; the preparations were done; there remained only to throw my packed bags into Jacob's car on Monday and depart. I was a free agent, with no more worries. There remained only to say goodbye. I spent the rest of the day hanging around Reading Town, sitting in the lobby waiting for kids to get out of class, then frantically waving and shouting farewells and well-wishes to hordes of retreating grade-schoolers when the bell rang. The long, slow waits during class time were the most difficult; the next class period's kids would come in, and sit with me on the couch in the Reading Town lobby, holding my hands, pinching my cheeks, or playing rock-paper-scissors with me. Emily, one of the Flukes, came and sat next to me, smiling, her feet not touching the ground, her little hands in her lap. Eileen and Amy, in AS2, ran up to me and echoed their last week's chorus of "Teacher! Gaji maseyo!" ("You can't go!") Eventually, the long day of farewells, cries, entreaties and promises came to an end. I said my goodbyes to the Reading Town staff (Rachel, Erica, Kelly, Swani, and Julia; Charles and Jacob I'd be seeing later) and departed with Adam and Elaine. ...and immediately caught a cab down to the bars with them. We went first to WaBar, and had a brew (the godawful WaBar house brew, which is the worst beer I've ever tasted, hands down). Then we went to Geogi, a marvelous little fourth-floor soju-and-hof place. There were lots of us: Adam, Elaine, Jeff, Jay the South African Scuba Diver, Andrea Suzanna Katz, Charles, Anne, and myself. Later Tonya (the New South African) and a some Scottish fellow whom I could barely understand showed up. It was a good time, lots of beers and lots of snacks (and even shots of soju with slices of watermelon in them, yuck). We yarned a bit at Geogi, then caught a cab to Jangpyeong (Andrea's neck of the words, a suburb of Gohyeon on the northwest side of town by the shipyards) to one of Tonya's preferred haunts, Crazy Bar. It was a nice place, with tasteful, dark, moody, blue lighting. The beers were good, and so was the rock candy. They let us choose our own tunes on YouTube, what's more. Adam went straight for Oasis and Kanye. We chatted a bit more, and then I walked a slightly worse-for-wear Andrea back home. By the time I got back to the bar (Andrea's house was a couple miles away, and Crazy Bar wasn't that easy to find), Adam and Elaine had departed. Charles and Anne left soon after, as well as the Scottish fellow. Jay hadn't accompanied us from Geogi, so that left Tonya, Jeff, and myself to make a night of it. That we did. We took turns as DJ, and danced and drank until 6:00 a.m., when the two barmaids' patience finally deserted them and they politely kicked us out. I staggered back to A&E's, managed somehow to be stealthy enough to get to their couch without waking them up, and slept until noon. So, the rest of that day (heh heh) was good. After an absolutely dynamite breakfast cooked up by Adam (buttered toast and fried eggs covered in baked beans, with a dollop of ketchup), I thought I'd take a stroll over to Jeff's and see if he was up and willing to come to Homeplus. We were all going to go later on that night, but I thought the two of us could do a preliminary scouting trip anyhow. As of the previous day, I was in the market for a new CD player...my previous one had unexpectedly petered out after sitting in my carry-on bag for ten days. Jeff wasn't up to it, though. Turns out I'd woken him up, the poor chap, him feeling stressed and tired and hung over and all. So I let him be and went on my way alone. Whilst I was walking merrily down the street, whom should show up but Charles and Anne in their little green Matiz! Turns out they were on their way to Adam and Elaine's to look for me: Charles and I had an appointment with some dwaejigukbap. (It's a kind of soup, filled with green onions and delicious pork belly shavings, served with a side of rice. I'd never tried it and Charles had been promising to take me out for some.) Without further ado I hopped into their car and we went to Homeplus (Charles and Anne needed some coat hangers). I managed to locate the CD players in the Homeplus electronics sector. Unsurprisingly, they only had one model, and that was just for listening to English language CDs. I dithered for a bit, but decided to make up my mind later that night. (For nearly ₩60,000 I reckoned I could forgo listening to CDs on the eleven-hour flight home just so I could have a little more choice at Best Buy back Stateside.) Then we went for soup. Charles knew this wonderful little one-room establishment not far from his apartment, so we parked and walked there. It was truly delicious, spicy and satisfying. As grateful as I was to get it (Charles was treating) and ashamed as I am to admit it, I didn't finish. Adam's hunger-defying breakfast was still rolling around in my stomach, and this particular establishment served great heaping bowls of dwaejigukbap. I was forced to leave a little, and the thought still haunts me. Following this we adjourned back to Charles's apartment. He was originally going to show me how to play janggi, a kind of Asian chess game, but I'd already sent my board and pieces (presented as a gift from Jacob) home in a package. So instead, Charles got me a pack of Go-Stop cards at Family Mart and we played that instead. Go-Stop is a game played with Japanese cards (with elaborate paintings on them instead of numbers or faces), and resembles rummy in that you draw a card, try to pair it with what's already on the table, and keep the pairs (or triples, or quadruples). The amount of similar cards you acquire translates to point values; however, the game is not so simple as that. You can also "steal" cards from other people, win the game quickly by acquiring certain specially marked cards, and so forth. (If you win quickly by that method, you can choose to keep the game going and acquire more points for yourself, or quit while you're ahead..."go" or "stop.") You need exactly three points to win: not seven, not two, not three. Three shall be the number thou shalt score, and the number of the scoring shall be three. Four shalt thou not score, neither score thou two, unless thou shalt then proceed to three. Five is right out. Anyway, it was a blast. It's great to be in a foreign country (on the other side of the world, no less, in the Orient) and learning a game that is in no way similar to any other card game I've played, ever. I think that's what attracted me to learning Korean, too. I got the rules down pretty quickly after we started playing, though Charles had to help me the first couple of rounds. I didn't win (by myself), but I minimized my losses neatly. This game is extremely popular in Korea, played by families at holidays and friends the whole year 'round (usually for money). Then Charles turned on GomTV (a free online TV network) and we watched Death Sentence with Kevin Bacon. Man, it was a good film, but it was kind of a mood-killer, especially compounded with the cloudy weather outside. It's the most depressing, downcast and violent film I've seen in a while, but I enjoyed it (and Charles and Anne's company) nonetheless. I knew this was our swan song, at least as far as this particular Korean sojourn was concerned. After the movie finished, sure enough, Charles and Anne gave me a lift back to Adam and Elaine's (some four hours or so after I'd left...I told 'em I was going for a walk), we shook hands, exchanged manly hugs, and said goodbye. Then Charles and Anne drove away, and I shall not see them again for years. But I shall see them again. Not five minutes after I let myself into A&E's (they'd given me the key), A, E and J came back from Homeplus. They'd stepped out while I was gone (I found a manila folder with a note scribbled on it on the ottoman). We unloaded the groceries, then set out our next plan of action: movies. We'd plotted to catch Public Enemies, the new Johnny Depp movie about John Dillinger, for some time now. Accordingly we caught a cab down to the Homeplus cinema a little bit after dark. I was pumped, as I'd never been to this theater before. Unfortunately, all I saw of it was the lobby: Public Enemies wasn't playing there. Figuring that since it was a smaller cinema that perhaps it didn't have room, we moved over to Lotte Cinema, but they didn't have it either. It premiered in South Korea on July 9; this was July 11. It should've been there by now. Oh well. We fell back on our Plan C (though we had a Plan D in mind if necessary, which I won't divulge): screen golf. We caught a cab back to the public library, near Jeff's apartment. There's a lovely little screen-golf place there with about seven rooms that we've frequented in the past. Things didn't go quite as planned, but they were interesting nonetheless. We walked in and found there were no rooms available until about ten, in an hour's time or so. We figured we'd head to Family Mart (a block or so down the street), grab some beer and munchies and wait it out. Easier said than done. It was pouring rain. It was only sprinkling while we were transitioning from theater to theater, but now the cloudburst began in earnest. By the time we reached Family Mart, we were pretty wet. We dried off a little during the hour we spent under the awning out in front. I was eating triangle gimbap, still trying to make myself sick of it; Jeff and Elaine were sitting down, Elaine smoking and eating candy, both animatedly talking; Adam bought some beer and then had to run back to his apartment for a bathroom break. He returned with his pea coat and an umbrella (and toweled hair) for our trip back to the golf place. While we were all standing outside and talking, a little man with a swollen chest and back (some form of Dowager's hump, it appeared, though he was of no great age) walked up. He talked animatedly and amiably to us, gesturing to the beer bottles, and shaking our hands and touching our shoulders, but we couldn't understand a single word out of his mouth, not even me with my few months' Korean practice. For the next few minutes he wandered in and out of the store, alternately trying to talk to us and engaging the two bemused teenage clerks. Soon he caught a cab and wandered off, without ever having made it clear what he wanted. Such things happen in foreign countries. We returned to the screen golf place in due time, in due wetness. There was only a coat and an umbrella between us. Adam and Elaine took the umbrella, and I let Jeff have the coat; I volunteered to run. My hair was already wet through anyway. So I sprinted the quarter mile or so to the golf place in the downpour, managing to get there fairly dry (no matter what Mythbusters says). After a bit the others caught up. Then followed the embarrassing bit: they had us wait in the lobby to dry off a little while they covered the couch in our room with garbage bags so we wouldn't wet it. Hmph. That was the end of our indignation, however. For the rest of the evening the staff was polite and indulgent, even letting us stay until one in the morning until we somehow managed to finish nine holes, all of us about 31 over par. Adam and I got within putting distance a couple of times, but each time the hole eluded us by a hair (much to our comic frustration). It was a grand night: we chatted, drank soju, ate the complimentary hard-boiled eggs and crackers, and basically sucked at golf. Awesome. Jeff split, A&E and I went back to their place and drank a little more, then hit the sack at four. Elaine stayed up until dawn watching Dirty Sexy Money. Sunday was, as always, the day of rest. We woke up about one o'clock in the afternoon and lazed about a bit until Jeff arrived at a quarter of four (a few hours after our appointed meeting time of one, but Jeff works on his own schedule, bless his nonconformist heart). For breakfast, I'd gone down to Top Mart and procured some doughnuts and sausages, which satiated us pretty well. While I was in Top Mart, Brian came up to me. I'd almost forgotten that he'd asked me to come by. He wanted to give me some gifts, he said. I made the usual polite attempt at passing it off (You know, "Oh, you didn't have to," or "That's so very kind of you"). He presented me with some curious and wonderful articles. They were two pairs of toe socks (which he'd heard didn't exist in the States; he wanted to give me something I couldn't get anywhere else), and a bamboo wife. A bamboo wife is a cylindrical framework, hollow, made of bamboo, and is am implement used to keep you cool while sleeping in hot countries. You embrace it as you would a sleeping companion (spoon with it, so to speak) and the breeze flows through the framework and keeps your body cool. Awesome, I'll be needing that in the desert. Though I never turn my nose up at gifts, I was less than thrilled with the toe socks. (You may be certain that I concealed this, however.) I've always considered them, well, a little goofy, and not my kind of goofy. But heck, the Buddhist monks here wear them, so you won't hear me turning my nose up at them. I accepted them with good grace. Brian gave me his e-mail address, wished me a warm farewell, and made me promise to keep in touch. Another farewell gone. I love that guy. We went at five to grab pizza. J's Pizza was a tiny one-room shop a few blocks down and one block over from A&Es. An extra-large pepperoni, combination, or Italian (cheese) pizza was only ten thousand won, a real steal. So we ordered four (three pepperoni, one Italian) and waited at the plastic dining table while the adorable middle-aged lady whipped it up for us. The room was...interesting. It was filled to the brim with pizza boxes, but crammed in there beside them were a cot, a desk, a computer, a TV, and a water cooler. We chatted a bit while the ceiling fan blew hot, humid, still air all over us (it was hot in that shop). We got our pizzas, went back, and ate them as we watched a few episodes of Deadliest Catch. Adam is a whiz with downloading stuff, ain't he? After catching the end of Total Recall on the TV (same channel we'd watched Speed on before we got the pizzas), Adam, Jeff and I briefly stepped out to a PC room. I'd promised myself I'd try one for real before I left Korea. Unfortunately, it was a bust. The first one we went to had an unhelpful clerk, who clicked around a little bit on our computers without telling us anything and then told us we were screwed (and then charging us 1300 apiece for maybe ten minutes of staring at his machines). The next one was friendlier, but no more able to give us a good time: turned out we needed to have a membership and a login to play online, even after getting on the computers. That we didn't have, so we had to abdicate. Bummer. Back at the apartment, we perused an interesting little documentary called Beer Wars, made by Anat Bacon, former president of Mike's Hard Lemonade. It was all about how the big, bad, evil triumvirate of watery, disgusting beers (Annheuser-Busch, Miller, and Coors) are forcing this crap on us while squeezing smaller, more artistic and grassroots beer brewers out of the market. There was some truth in it, but it was quite clearly propaganda, and I viewed it with a grain of salt. It made me thirsty, too. Right when that little 90-minute show ended, the final act came on TV: Live Free or Die Hard, subtitled in Korean. I hadn't seen this fourth installment in the Die Hard series (I'd heard some bad things about it, and Die Hard was never that high on my list of favorite movies anyway, despite how good the franchise and the action is), but I loved it. The action was really ramped up for this fourth installment, and Willis was pretty good at portraying the older, sadder, wearier version of John McClane. The villains weren't quite as detestable but the daughter figure was smokin', so I wasn't complaining. As the film ended (with CCR playing "Fortunate Son"), we called it. I had to be up at 5:30 the next morning. Jeff left after a somewhat awkward goodbye. Neither of us are good at those at all, by our own admission. We passed it off with a laugh and parted. Umpteen down, three to go... After a surprisingly restful night's sleep, despite the brevity and the howling wind (the wind had been fierce all day), I woke up, zipped up my bags, and hauled them the stairwell with A&E's help. Then we sat and watched the thunderstorm. It was banging and thundering and pouring like mad, a real fierce summer T-storm. Figures. The very day I'm leaving it's assured that I'll (a) be soaked in loading my bags in the car, and (b) probably have my flight canceled. Neither distasteful contingency materialized. When Jacob rolled up, he and Adam and Elaine made a sort of umbrella relay between the door of the apartment building and the trunk of the car. I only got a few drops on my hat and shoulders. And then...suddenly it was time to say goodbye. Goodbye, to the friends who'd given me shelter for nearly a week in total, who'd invited me over for dinner countless times, friends I'd bummed around with for ten months, who'd sheltered me, helped me, lent me money, and given me some of the most helpful advice and the most heartfelt compliments of any friends I'd ever known (Jeff had done the same). The split was not messy, but it was not painless, either. We shook hands, exchanged hugs, promised to meet again before the wedding, and then just like that I was in the car and rolling down the street. But I will see them again, too. Darn it. After a rather sublime ride through the dawn and the storm (with a beautiful break in the clouds to the northeast letting in some refracted sunlight), we reached the ferry station at Guyeong, on the north of the island. Jacob was a bit worried: he feared the storm might bring about a ferry cancellation. Fortunately this was not true, either. (Hey, looks like my travel karma's getting its act together.) We boarded the 7:00 for Jinhae and had a relatively smooth and very scenic passage. Jacob didn't talk much, but he did point out several of the sights: the island in between Geoje and the mainland that was one of President I Myeong-Bak's official resorts, and the half-finished bridge between Geoje and Busan. It's actually a brunnel. The southern half is a standard bridge, massive, supported by concrete pylons; the northern half is a tunnel that goes under the water. Jacob explained to me the reasons for this. "There is a luff crunt," he said. I begged his pardon. "A luff crunt," he repeated. I realized this was just good ol' Jacob having trouble with some tricky English phrase, as he occasionally does. I didn't bother him any more and set my mind to the task of deciphering it. Fortunately it wasn't too hard. Luff crunt. Rough current. Jacob also explained that, since the northern regions of Geoje-do housed massive shipyards, whose fruits needed to pass out of the Geoje Straits and into the open Pacific Ocean, it would be impractical to dam their passage with a bridge. So the half-tunnel idea was hit upon and implemented. The bridge is slated for completion in 2010 or so, and it will probably destroy Geoje-do as I know it, with the amount of weekend tourists likely doubling, tripling or quadrupling. Saeongjima. We arrived at Jinhae, offloaded easy as pie, and drove to the airport. Jacob escorted me inside, showed me to the Japanese Airlines ticket counter (which really wasn't, as I'll explain, but I don't blame him for that), and then... ...well, dang it, it was time to say goodbye again. We shook hands. I promised to look him up again if ever I was in Korea, as he adamantly asked me to. He reiterated just how much he'd treasure my memory (gosh) and then with a wave, a smile, and a couple of looks over his shoulder, he left. And that does it for farewells. I haven't cracked up yet, and so far it looks like I'm not going to (I'm too excited to be off into the wild blue yonder again), but I won't forget these people. And neither will you, if I have anything to do with it. The JAL counter wasn't open for another half hour, so after I got some snacks at a small deli curiously named Sand & Food (which served expensive, soggy, only-slightly-less-than-godawful soggy sandwiches), I went back and discovered that no, it wasn't the JAL counter. The real counter, across the way, wasn't open until twelve. Great. I spent those three hours in the free Internet room (doing this) or reading The Three Musketeers. I imagine I'll finish it during the flight. Seeing as how I'm into the sixth chapter already, that could be saying something and then again it could not. When the time came, I got in line. I chatted a bit with a middle-aged American lady at the head of the line, suddenly remembered to get my bamboo wife wrapped, slid off, got it wrapped for ten grand, slid back in line, got my bags checked, had to go back over to the same counter I'd started at and pay 110,000 won for excess baggage (three pieces instead of two), passed security and immigration like a breeze, then went up to the other free Internet room in the terminal proper and finished writing this. (Whew!) Next entry coming to you from Apple Valley, California...

Day Ten: Gwangju

It's been Jeju redux time here in ol' Jeollanam-do Province. The weather stinks. I awoke to sullen overcast and drizzle, exactly the same as when I first arrived on Jeju Island. Seemed the bad weather moved up here. Anyway, regardless, I got up, dressed, phoned my parents and took off for the museums. First I dropped by a Ministop (sort of like 7-11 or Family Mart) to get some breakfast. While I was selecting some triangle gimbap, sausages, orange juice and one of those fibrous drinks the Koreans are so proud of, a Korean man standing at the counter and chatting with the clerk-ladies looked up and noticed me. He attempted (with an expression on his face I wasn't sure I liked) to ask me a few questions in Korean. I didn't understand at all. This only seemed to frustrate him, unlike the other 99% of Koreans I'd talked to who were patient and only chuckled if you didn't get it. So unaccustomed was I to being treated in such a manner that I got rather irked with the guy. I gave him a saucy wave as I left. To add insult to injury, the gimbap wasn't even that good, reminiscent of that awful ersatz meat pie I had yesterday. Danged if I ever go into a Ministop again. There wasn't much going on at the Gwangju National Museum. The main exhibition hall was closed for renovations or something, which left only the gardens and the "education center" (whatever that was). The stupa, grinding wheels, and headless sitting Buddha figure on the lawns were unimpressive, but the five-story pagoda wasn't too bad, even despite extensive weathering. Be that as it may, I didn't deign to take any pictures. I'll say this, too: some relics don't look like relics. You know what I mean? Those crowns and jewelry that I saw at Gyeongju didn't really look old. They'd been too perfectly restored. They were too shiny, too well-preserved. The weight of ages didn't press down upon them; the wonder of the ancients didn't radiate from them appreciably. But on the grounds of the Gwangju National Museum, there was an old celadon kiln that lay half-excavated and covered by a pavilion. That gave me the shivers. It just looked old, and ruined, and ancient, and forgotten. There it was, broken pottery scattered all about, the roof half-collapsed (or perhaps cut away to allow interior viewing)...it was like gazing upon that shipwreck at the bottom of the East China Sea off Seogwipo Harbor. The kiln was monstrously old and ruined, appreciably so. Just one look invoked visions of the kiln as it once was, whole, in use by creative artisans, churning out beautiful sea-green pottery, perhaps for the dining tables of the Joseon kings. I wondered how those artisans would feel about their tool in its present state, gazed upon by the unimaginable inhabitants of some future age. About five minutes after I'd entered, I left the National Museum and walked under the Honam Expressway to the Folk Museum. That was much more worthwhile. It was 500 won to get in (500 more than the National Museum had been), but it was more than worth it. The museum had lots of amazing artifacts dating from the Goryeo period through Joseon. There were hand-made hemp and straw sandals, octopus fishhooks, huge wooden scoops (for digging irrigation ditches), wedding clothes, children's toys, even earwax removers (resembling really tiny spoons). There was a diagram of the wall of some popular antiquarian Korean women's hairstyles. Most fascinating was the collection of ancient printed novels. Korea had block printing hundreds of years before Gutenberg, and printed novels, though not as common as today, were still made and distributed. To see a book, with an intricately carved wooden cover and pages covered with printed Chinese symbols, dating from nearly a thousand years ago...well, it was humbling, to say the least. I left the Folk Museum, leaped into a pedestrian tunnel to avoid a cloudburst, and then sauntered jauntily on to the Art Museum, showcasing works from Korean, Japanese and Chinese artists (with one or two Westerners thrown in). It was a 500-won "blah." I could take it or leave it. The modern art section, as has been true for every single modern art section of a museum I've ever been to, was a complete waste of time. A piano painted entirely white. Sunflowers made of computer CD drives and disc trays. A space capsule made out of luggage. A desk caught in the act of flying to pieces. Whoop-de-doo. The sculpture and painting galleries were much better. I was pleased with one piece in particular, called A Hidden Stream. It was a cave made of bronze, with a trickle of silvery stainless steel pouring out of a concealed cleft. The effect was pleasant, especially the way the stainless steel had been made to "overflow" the sculpture proper and run down the pedestal it was sitting on. In the paintings gallery, I was flabbergasted at the beautiful simplicity of one painting, entitled 8 Strokes. It was simply that: two strokes of a brown brush (at right angles) and six strokes of a white brush, on an olive-green canvas. Unremarkable, you say? The result looked remarkably like three strips of white linen hung over a wooden frame outdoors. It was uncanny. The simplicity of it was stunning...and beautiful, as I said. And that was basically it. I walked out, got a cab back to the station, grabbed some milk, water, and a Snickers bar at Family Mart (I'd been nursing a slight headache for a couple of hours, and figured some fluids and a sugar rush couldn't hurt) and returned to my hotel for a few hours. After resting up, I sallied forth once again. Thus I got a cab to Chungjang Shopping District. This proved to be similar to the Gukje Market in Busan. It's a wide area of narrow streets, jam-packed with shops stacked on top of and smushed in next to each other. It's the closest thing to Diagon Alley, I'm sure, that you'll find anywhere. The atmosphere of the place is charming: closet-sized yet chic clothing shops galore; restaurants and bars aplenty; pop music blaring from every speaker; vendors selling delicious twigim (fried food); and bushels of young and trendy people everywhere. It's quite overwhelming for a country boy like me. My first stop was 25, a hip and famous record store. Lo and behold, true to the guide book's description, there were CDs from all over the Western world there, at good prices too. They had classical music and Korean traditional favorites as well, plus a bucket load of K-Pop and Asian pop music. After deliberating for a bit, I up and bought Viva la Vida by Coldplay, The Battle of Los Angeles by Rage Against the Machine, and Gold (the best of James Brown). Hey, I'm expanding my musical tastes here a little, give me a break. The bill came to 48,000 won, and I walked out of there a contented man. (Something along the lines of "Oh boy, this should see me through the eleven-hour flight to Los Angeles!" was running through my head.) After that I wandered about a little and even got lost a couple of times. It's a big place, far bigger, I suspect, than Gukje Market and Jagalchi combined. Then I spotted dinner. I was quite hungry by this point, despite consuming some triangle gimbap and some meat-on-a-stick after leaving the hotel, and had been subconsciously searching for a restaurant. And there you had it: Mujinju, a three-storied and classy restaurant near the western edge of the shopping district, specializing in bossam. Bossam is basically slices of rather fatty pork, which like most Korean meat is wrapped in a leaf with some vegetables and sauce and eaten. I ordered the kimchi bossam (meaning I wrapped the kimchi up with the meat) and very delicious it was. They don't serve portions for fewer than two people at Mujinju, however. So I had to eat quite a bit. And the meat, as I may have mentioned, is very fatty. Half fat, I'd say. When I ordered, the waitress dutifully jotted it down, hesitated, then looked at me and said in English, "Do you like fat?" With a grin and a nonchalant swish of my head, I said "I do." I didn't like the kimchi very much...it was a tad too sweet for some reason. But the bossam itself was delicious. It was served with two sauces (brown and mustard), as well as ssamjang, garlic slices, and pickled onions, and some cabbage soup for afters. Also, when I'd finished eating, the staff brought me some absolutely delightful cold cinnamon tea to sip on. That stuff is amazing. I hope I can get it back in the States, because I've never tasted any tea so flavorful or sweet. Mujinju itself is quite well-appointed as well. The interior is mostly wood, stained tastefully dark. Some charming lithographs of Chinese characters and pastoral scenes complete the decor. The place is architecturally challenging: M.C. Escher-like, almost. The three floors of the restaurant are stacked haphazardly atop one another, as though by some careless child. But the service is grand, the staff well-dressed and friendly with at least a working knowledge of English, the food delectable, and the cost not too steep. For a two-person helping of kimchi bossam I paid ₩21,000. That's about $16.50 or so. Not half bad considering the state of the world economy, eh? After dinner I went next door to the Joybox Arcade. It was small, but there was plenty of choice. Arranged around the southern and western walls was a bevy of small, violently purple compartments that looked like photo booths, but on closer inspection proved to be miniature noraebang. (Noraebang means "singing room" in Korean, remember? Korean karaoke.) Two people could squeeze inside one and have their pick of songs to sing, with a TV screen and microphones. I didn't see how much they cost (sorry). I do know that I blew about ₩2,000 on Time Crisis II (300 won per game/respawn). As I was walking into the arcade, a small group of young men outside caught my attention. They were busy challenging the punch machine. You know, you pop in a coin, pull the punching bag down, and then lay into it for all you're worth. I was challenged by one of the most vocal of these young men (a skinny fellow with glasses and a blue button-down, who spoke English quite well) to see who had the strongest punch. Not one to pass up a martial challenge, I handed him my bag of CDs, and let fly. I scored somewhere in the 8300 range. "That's lowest score," my challenger said, grinning. "We are stronger than you." Yes they were, I admitted. "One more time?" the challenger asked. I said yes, blew on my knuckles, wound up, and tried harder. 8787. "Wow! Good score." Then it was my challenger's turn...or rather, my challenger's champion's. Another guy in a white T-shirt and shorts cleared some space, then kicked the punching bag with a swinging right leg. His score was well into the 9000 range. Even though he technically hadn't punched the thing, we'd never agreed beforehand on the terms of the contest. We'd just set out to see who was stronger. I figured the sportsmanlike thing to do was pay up, so I gave the winner a thousand-won note, shook hands with these fellows ("You are a good man," they said) and went inside the arcade. After the second boss kicked my butt on Time Crisis II, I took to wandering again, but I didn't really see anything I wanted. I don't really do shopping, unless it's books, music, or guns. Or manly outerwear. I nonchalantly went into a shoe store, looking to replace my old Kamik trail shoes or even my Columbia work boots, but no such luck. I've never been much of a Converse fan. Then I spotted the Baskin Robbins. Now, to be honest, I'd just consumed two helpings of fat back at Mujinju. I hesitated at the parlor doors, gazing at the familiar, comforting blues and purples inside. What the hell, I thought. You're only young once. I went inside. I eschewed my usual Jamocha Almond Fudge for a big helping of Cherry Jubilee (King Cone, baby...three thousand won). Aw man, it was awesome. Cherry ice cream definitely deserves to be honored foremost amongst humankind's greatest inventions, right up there with umbrella hats. As I was sitting in the upstairs room, slurping my ice cream happily, I noticed a pair of rather giggly Korean schoolgirls sitting at the table next to me. They kept looking over their shoulders at me, then putting their heads together and speaking softly and quickly. I caught snatches of English phrases, and deduced that they were figuring out how to speak to me. And then it happened. "Hi. How are you?" I absolutely love this about Korea. Coming from a land where most foreigners are looked upon with suspicion, if not outright hostility, it's refreshing to be in a foreign land oneself and be treated unerringly with curiosity and friendliness. Okay, yeah, sure, they might've just been practicing their English on me, but hey...they could've hurled some racial epithets at me and flounced out, too. But they didn't. "I'm fine, thanks," I said (my standard reply). "How are you?" There followed a halting conversation. At my every reply the speaker would put her head together with her reference book (her friend) and then figure out what I'd said, and formulate a reply. This worked so well that eventually we wound up taking pictures together. It was kind of funny: as I handed her my camera so she could take our picture, the speaker brushed herself down and made what I deduced to be some self-deprecating comment about her appearance. "Gwaenchanayo," I said. "Yeppun yeoja imnida." It's okay. You're a pretty woman. The girl threw her hands over her face and went into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Then we took pictures, said very cordial and amiable goodbyes, and then they left. It was just five seconds after this that a couple of Baskin Robbins staff members walked up to my table, presented me with plastic shot glass filled with purple ice cream, and bade me drink it for free. "This drink is called 'Purple Berry Blast,'" one of them explained. It was service (see Day Eight: Jeju). I drank it slowly. It was delicious. Dang, I am going to miss this country. In fact, this little three-hour pilgrimage I made to the Chungjang Shopping District in Gwangju underscored everything I'm going to miss about Korea: gigantic open markets, talkative people, delicious food, music in the air, atmosphere, culture (Oriental and Occidental)...and Korea itself, really. I wandered around a little more, but I'd just about seen everything. The sky was beginning to drip a little, and I was anxious to get back to my room and (a) test out my new CDs and (b) hit the sack early. (I need to catch the bus out of here pretty soon tomorrow; I reckon it's going to take me up to seven hours or so to reach Gohyeon.) So I caught yet another cab (Gwangju is filled with them), had a short ride back to the train station (during which the driver and I admired the legs of a rather gorgeous woman in a short skirt and pumps riding sidesaddle on the back of a scooter), a balmy stroll back to the Koreana Tourist Hotel, was greeted by that same spooky stuffed tiger, and... ...well, here I am.